I Accept Gays, But That Doesn’t Mean I Have to Embrace Them

I like most gays as people, but I don’t like the acts they perform. Forgive me, I am what I am as gays are what they are. Perhaps a gay doesn’t like the fact that I am bipolar or that I’ve dropped out of the work force to teach boxing. Perhaps he is sickened by my intercourse with a woman. God bless his disdain. What do I care?

Perhaps a gay doesn’t understand my not finding his boyfriend cute. No, I wouldn’t want to kiss his cheek. Is that disrespect or an internal preference?

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Same sex performance is contrary to my biology and genes. It is inherently repellent to me. I don’t know why. Chemistry is dominant. I am a byproduct of my body and my fleshed out ideas. I am not blind to disgust or the stink of strange acts that are foreign to me.

Same sex marriage sometimes amuses me. I understand how gays take it seriously. Their meaning is not my meaning. But they can’t expect me to walk out from under my biology and stare straight into the light of something that blinds me. Two burly men walking down the street hand and hand is just amusing to me.

There are plenty of things that disgust me. A student shooting a boogie at the back of a classmate’s head. A kid pooping in his pants. Someone stabbing another person. A subway teenager beating up an old lady.

It all nauseates me. My disgust is of these things is inherent as is my disgust of gay sex. That doesn’t mean that I don’t feel that my repulsion is small minded and wrong. But at the same time repulsion is repulsion, not a matter of choice but a reflection of internal necessities. Even if I am ashamed of it, it is only natural for me to be repulsed when two men kiss each other.

I am who I am. I am not Popeye the Sailor man. I am a man. And women are on my horizon.

Gay pride? I don’t understand it. If I were gay I would be ashamed and skulking off into the corner bedrooms. I would worry that my dad would find out. A man is a man is a man. Even Gertrude Stein knew that about a rose is a rose is a rose and she was gay. Reality is telling the truth even when it is politically incorrect.

I can gladly say to a gay that I accept him. But that doesn’t mean I have to embrace him. In fact it would be biologically incorrect to do so. It would be dishonest. It would go against every instinct I’ve had since I was a little boy having crushes on little girls with hoop skirts.

I do not want to lie to gays in order to make them feel good. Lies ultimately backfire and lead to violence or hatred. Gays must recognize our differences and realize that we will always regard them differently. That doesn’t mean that we should reject them. It also doesn’t mean that it is necessary that we embrace them. We should, however, make an effort to accept them. And they should recognize that acceptance is good enough.

The world has become so politically correct that I want to wash my hands of it with a dishrag. Politically correct is spiritual anathema. Lies to make people feel better lie down in the mud and muddy the waters. They mislead both sides and inadvertently create a gap that can’t be bridged.

That’s the beauty of being heterosexual. It sets up the barriers and allows both sides to tell it like it is and to know what’s what. It does not hide behind liberalism and lies.

Homophobia will do more for exonerating prejudice against gays than false embracing of gay people and gay pride.

Gays and straight people have a certain revulsion towards each other. That’s natural and not to be demeaned in an effort at political correctness.

The views expressed in this opinion article are solely those of their author and are not necessarily either shared or endorsed by EagleRising.com

About the author

David Lawrence

David Lawrence has a Ph.D. in literature. He has published over 200 blogs, 600 poems, a memoir “The King of White-Collar Boxing,” several books of poems, including “Lane Changes.” Both can be purchased on Amazon.com. He was a professional boxer and a CEO. Last year he was listed in New York Magazine as the 41st reason to love New York.

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